5 Reasons Why Walmart Is The Worst


I hate Walmart. I just do.

It was a college kid’s paradise back in the day, and I agree wholeheartedly with anyone who feels it is a postgrad’s paradise, as well. Walmart is truly a one-stop shop where you can buy anything your broke little heart desires and still wind up having enough money to celebrate with those kindred spirits around you at happy hour. I’m a proponent for the change of Walmart’s slogan from “Always low prices. Always,” to “Buy your own meth lab here!” with a bright red, neon arrow flashing and pointing directly to the front door.

Anything is possible at Walmart. That exact reason leads me to my list of the top five reasons (out of many, I assure you) of why I fucking hate that place.

1. The people.

The fucking people. If you’ve ever wanted a commentary on the “Walmartians” you can see at any given moment at, then you’re in for a treat today. I understand the logic behind the name “Walmartians,” but the -martian part of the word is so spot-on accurate that it deserves it’s own honorable mention, as it proves we are not alone. These people HAVE to be from a completely different planet, because there is no way you and I, as completely functioning members of society, actually coexist with these people in the real world. These are the same people who decide to showcase what special kind of crazy they are at Walmart. These are the same people who could make you feel good about yourself when your makeup from last night is smudged all down your face, your false lashes still hanging on by a thread, and the vomit you so happily produced all morning is something you’re wearing as a bib. These are the same anarchists who park their carts in the middle of a 6-foot wide aisle. These are the same people who, if a slow-burn fire began in the automotive department and they were on their unnecessary motorized scooters in the candy aisle at the front of the store, would die. Not only would they refuse to get off their unnecessary motorized scooters because they can WALK AWAY from the candy they don’t need and die, but they would fuel the rapid hate fire that is now Walmart with their natural body oils that have accumulated on their person since their shower last August. I hate you. I hate that you feel it’s totally cool to tuck your tits into your jogging pants and wear it as a one piece jumpsuit. I hate that you and your fucking scooter are alwaysalwaysalways in my way, no matter how hard I try to get away from you. I hate that you’re too lazy for Walmart. But, I love that you people make me look and feel like I just won Miss Universe every time I step through the door.

2. You always leave feeling borderline homicidal.

You people who think you have it all figured out with “the perfect time” to go to Walmart–GTFO. You can go at 7 a.m. on a Tuesday, 2:30 p.m. on a Thursday, 10 p.m. on a Friday, or 3 a.m. on a Sunday morning, but you’re going to leave with a rage so true and deep that you’ll carry it with you all the way home. There is always some person or something that just pisses you off like a 24-hour drive thru being closed at 3 a.m. when you’re drunk as piss.

3. There’s too much to choose from.

I can’t even deal. You go in for one product (i.e., shampoo) but you wind up staring at two adjacent walls of shampoo with keratin and jojoba oil and shit that makes your hair smooth or curly or wavy like the beach. Then you have to buy conditioner. Just give me, like, three options. Then you have to pick up a few grocery items and they have the sulfate-free option and what the fuck does that even mean?

4. You lose your entire afternoon.

Thanks to no. 3, you wind up spending much more time than originally anticipated in the throes of Walmart decision-making and discovery–and it turns into your entire day. You walk into some space/time continuum and forget who you are, where you are, what you came for, your purpose in life, and that you have an ability called “self control.” You travel into different dimensions entirely (the same dimensions I assume the Walmartians are from) oohing and ahhing at shit you don’t want–nay, need.

5. You never leave with what you went in for.

When you are finally freed from the hell that is Walmart, two things have just happened. The first is that for every one thing you bought, you left with five more. You also probably completely forgot what you went for in the first place. Go ahead, write a list you won’t use. I’ll wait. Why I hate Walmart reason no. 304: even with its “Always low prices” slogan, I still leave with a negative balance in my bank account. You leave “Walmart poor.” Have you ever been “Walmart poor?” If you have, you know what rock bottom feels like.

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My state gave you J. Law, Clooney, two-fifths of the Backstreet Boys, and multiple fifths of bourbon. I gave you a cover letter using Brian McKnight lyrics. Psuedo-adult by day; PGP, TFM, and TSM contributor by night. Please don't ask me to do math.

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